


Wrong Number

by ellipsisthegreat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: I'm so sorry, M/M, bunny teeth dedicated to my sweetiehoneydarlincuz, this is complete and utter schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:49:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsisthegreat/pseuds/ellipsisthegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is given a fake number at a bar. The number belongs to Derek. (In response to <a href="http://berry-muffin.tumblr.com/post/77375127803/littlecofiegirl-captain-snark-i-need-sterek">this post</a> on tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Number

**Author's Note:**

> I'll just be right over there with toothbrushes and floss, k? *scuttles away*

“Hail.”

“Hail,” Stiles said brightly, a smile breaking across his face. “It’s, uh, Stiles.”

“Who?”

The smile froze on his face. “Stiles. From the club Friday night?”

“Wrong number.” Click.

Stiles pulled his cell phone away from his ear and frowned at it. Squinted at the scrap of paper in his other hand. Slowly, fingers pressing buttons with painstaking purpose, he dialed the number.

“Hail.”

“Shit,” he said, running his free hand over his face. “Dude, I’m sorry, apparently even the people I think are showing interest are actually not at all interested. I’m just a huge loser and, um, apparently I give off the vibe that I won’t take no for an answer, or something? Because I don’t really see any other reason to give me some random guy’s number, like how pathetic is that? So, yeah. Sorry. Um. I’m going to just.” He hung up and dropped the phone onto the table. Pressed his hands against his eyes until he saw spots dancing around the backs of his eyelids. Took a deep breath and held it for a second so maybe he wouldn’t start crying. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

He jumped as his phone rang, fumbling with it. Wiped his eyes on a sleeve furiously as he glanced at the number. Which looked suspiciously like the one he’d called. Twice. “Uh, hi, this is Stiles.”

“What, exactly, is a Stiles?” asked the voice from before.

“It’s a nickname. Uh, my nickname. My family’s Polish, so, like, my actual name has a lot of unnecessary and confusing consonants. It’s, uh, better if people just call me Stiles,” Stiles said, voice breaking on his name so he sounded like a teenager. Or like he wasn’t sure of his own name. Or like he was a spastic loser whose voice did shit like crack a decade after puberty should have been over.

“Ah,” the voice said.

“You’re a real talker,” Stiles said before he could think twice about it, because he was not-so-secretly an asshole and had no brain-to-mouth filter. “Loquacious, even, I can’t get a word in edgewise, you—”

“Stop talking.”

He laughed nervously. It might even have been described as something of a hysterical giggle if the person doing the describing was someone other than Stiles.

“Whoever gave you my number is a gigantic bag of dicks,” the voice said, completely monotone.

“Are you reading off a teleprompter?” Stiles asked. “You sound like you’re reading off a teleprompter. Or, like, notecards or something. Also you don’t really sound like you’re the kind of guy who says people are gigantic bags of dicks, but I’m just going on a limb with that one. I mean, to be honest if I hadn’t thought you were Ethan I’d have thought you worked at, like, Medieval Times or something. Do you work at Medieval Times?”

“I’m not sure what part of that I’m supposed to respond to.”

“Any of it. All of it. None of it, is probably what you should respond to, because I kind of do this thing where I babble a lot and—”

“I never would have guessed,” the voice said. There was the muffled sound of someone letting out a small cry of rage from somewhere away from the receiver. The voice said in hushed tones, “shut up, Laura, I already called him back and read your stupid—Laura!”

“Who’s Laura?”

“A mooch and my lifelong burden,” the voice said seriously.

“I’m his sister,” said another voice.

“That’s what I said,” said the first voice, strained. “Go away.” Louder, like he had put the phone back to his mouth, “not you, I was talking to Laura.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, pressing his lips together so he wouldn’t laugh.

“And don’t listen through the door,” the first voice said, quieter again.

“This makes me glad I don’t have siblings.” Stiles leaned back in his chair.

“You should be.” The guy cleared his throat. “Laura told me to say the thing about dicks. Bags of dicks. The guy who gave you the wrong number.”

He chuckled. “Kind of got that.”

“He probably meant to give you the Dominos number. If you switch the last two digits that’s who you’d have been calling.”

“Oh, man, that must suck. Do you get lots of pizza orders?”

“Yes. Sometimes if I hang up on them they call back and ask for a large sausage with extra sauce.”

He couldn’t help the loud bark of laughter that burst out of him. “Dude, that’s kind of awesome.”

“Not really.”

“Nope, totally awesome. You have it better than this dude I play XBOX Live with sometimes, he works at an IHOP in North Carolina and when he answers the phone he has to say ‘IHOP on Cox’ because there are two in the city he’s in.”

There was a long, drawn out pause. “You made that up.”

“Totally didn’t, dude, the IHOP’s actually on Cox Road, I looked it up and everything.” He shrugged, realizing belatedly the movement couldn’t be seen over the phone. Promptly changed the subject rather than admit his folly. “Do you work at a Medieval Times?”

“No. I’m in construction.”

“Oh. Are you in, like, castle construction, or something to do with Ren Fair…”

“You’re stuck on the medieval thing why, exactly?”

“You said ‘hail’ when you answered the phone.”

“That’s my surname,” the voice said slowly, like he wasn’t sure Stiles was actually a real person who existed in real life. It was a tone Stiles was long accustomed to and adept at ignoring. “H-a-l-e, Hale.”

“Oh, shit.” He laughed. “Oh, man, I’m kind of an idiot, wow. My surname’s Stilinski. More Polish, but not as bad as my first name. It was probably misspelled on Ellis Island when my great granddad immigrated, since Stilinski isn’t an actual Polish surname. Staliński is, but I’ve done lots of Google-Fu and I cannot for the life of me find what it means. Like, ‘-inski’ is a suffix meaning ‘of’, like ‘son of’ or whatever, but the only meaning I’ve found for ‘stal’ is ‘steel,’ and that’s Nordic. Which, like, Poland’s pretty close to the Nordic countries and all but I don’t know if they’d have used a Nordic word for a surname, you know? It’d be kind of cool, though, right? Because then my last name would mean ‘of steel,’ like ‘man of steel’. Which would make me Superman. Though I prefer Batman, personally, but being impervious to pain would’ve come in handy back in high school.”

“You should stop talking now.”

He laughed again. Nervously. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s.” Hale sighed. “You ramble a lot.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grimace he thought was probably reflected in his voice. “I have ADHD. We all hoped it’d go away with puberty, but no such luck. You can. You’re more than welcome to stop me when I get all, you know. I won’t take it personally, I swear.” He forced himself to laugh again. “It’s probably why I can’t get a date, right?”

“That guy was definitely a dick,” Hale said. “Or a bag of them, or whatever. It’s not—I don’t mind—I just have to go to bed.”

“Right. Well. Thanks for calling me back. And, uh, sorry for calling you in the first place.”

“No, I. You can. Anytime. Um. Call me.” There was a strangled noise, and then a sudden click as Hale disconnected.

Stiles looked down at his phone, trying (and mostly failing) not to grin stupidly at it. He bit his bottom lip, thumbs hovering over the touch screen. Determinedly, he hit the ‘save number’ button.

Then, before he could think better of it, he texted ‘ _btw its stiles not styles, i am not in a boy band_ ’.

[From: Precious McSexyvoice Hale] ‘ _I don’t know what that means. Laura says goodnight Harry._ ’

[To: Precious McSexyvoice Hale] ‘ _tell her goodnight roslin._ ’

[From: Precious McSexyvoice Hale] ‘ _…Okay? Goodnight Stiles._ ’

(DON’TBESUCHASOURPAGEBREAK)

[To: Sir Hale] ‘ _GOOD MORNING STARSHINE THE EARTH SAYS HELLO_ ’

[From: Sir Hale] ‘ _Do you only text in all or no caps?_ ’

[To: Sir Hale] ‘ _YES ITS PART OF MY CHARM_ ’

[From: Sir Hale] ‘ _Right. Good morning, Stiles. I’ll be with a client until about 3…noon for you. Call after?_ ’

[To: Sir Hale] ‘ _YOUVE GOT YOURSELF A PHONE LUNCH DATE GOOD LUCK W/MEETING_ ’

[From: Sir Hale] ‘ _Thanks. Good luck with…whatever you get up to until then._ ’

[To: Sir Hale] ‘ _PROGRAMMING IM A PROGRAMMER I PROGRAM THINGS OF THE ELECTRONIC VARIETY_ ’

[From: Sir Hale] ‘ _Okay, Stiles. I really have to go, talk to you at noon._ ’

[To: Sir Hale] ‘ _KK TTYIAB_ ’

(DON’TBESUCHASOURPAGEBREAK)

“Okay, so.” Erica rolled into his office so smoothly she may well have been gliding. In a rolly chair. “I’ve been super patient, like you don’t even know how patient I’ve been, but you still haven’t said anything so it’s time to spill.”

Stiles squinted at her. “Spill what?”

“The reason you smile so much, lately. Also I have literally never seen you fly out of here to get to lunch as fast as you did yesterday. Not even on Taco Tuesday, and you have an unnatural obsession with Taco Tuesday.”

“It’s not unnatural, Taco Tuesday is a gift,” he said. “And yeah, so?”

“So you’ve been staying on the phone the whole time. Until about a month ago you only ever called your dad, and all you do is fuss at him about eating healthy, so he always hangs up on you after, like, five minutes max. Which means you were talking to someone else. Which means you met someone.”

He winced. “Kind of? I mean I’ve never actually met him?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Explain.”

“About a month ago I met this dude at Jungle. Dude at the club gave me the wrong number, I called it, met another dude. End of explanation.”

“You basically glow all through lunch, Stiles, like a human light bulb. You could light up the entire building with the wattage of your smile.”

“No, I. You’re exaggerating, shut up,” he said, waving her off.

“Mhm.” She leaned her elbows on his desk, hands cradling her chin.

“I—”

They both jumped as his phone went off, loudly singing that someone had [the wrong number](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gv5EhGeZ7fM).

“Is that…J-Pop?” Erica asked, voice devoid of all emotion.

“K-Pop, uh, technically,” Stiles said, shrinking in his seat a little. “I’ll just…I’m going to answer that.” He made a shooing motion with his hands and ignored the hugely judgmental expression on her face as she pushed off of his desk and glided back out of his office. Cleared his throat. “Hail, Hale.”

“That isn’t as funny as you think it is.”

“I think it’s fucking hilarious, dude, that leaves a lot of room for how funny it is,” Stiles said.

“It’s not—never mind. Are you…it’s noon, for you?”

Stiles glanced down at his computer. Immediately set about clocking out. “Yes, yes it is. And I officially give zero fucks about programming for the next hour.” He balanced his phone between his ear and shoulder as he shrugged on his jacket and swept out of his office.

“Stiles, you have—” Erica looked up at him, eyebrows arched.

“Zero fucks,” he said. Sang, maybe, might have been a more appropriate verb.

“You’re going to get fired,” Hale said with a low laugh. (Hale, because Stiles had never learned Hale’s first name. Whatever the appropriate time frame was wherein he could ask, they had definitely passed it.)

“Nah, man, that is never going to be a thing that happens,” Stiles said. “I mean, unless I get super drunk one night and start talking to myself? Which I guess could happen, but I feel like talking to yourself is more of a drug abuse thing, and my dad’s a sheriff. His powers of perception border on supernatural, I literally didn’t touch alcohol until my twenty-second birthday.”

Hale snorted. “There’s no way you own a company. You cannot possibly be a day over twelve.”

“Then it’s definitely a good thing that dude gave me your number instead of his, or he would be really arrested.”

“As opposed to only slightly arrested?”

“If Dad caught me dating someone—note that I said someone, he does not discriminate based on genitalia or, for that matter, a lack thereof—he would probably arrest them at least once on trumped up charges just to prove he can. He’d let them go and all, he’d just, you know…assemble and clean a few guns, first. And maybe tell some stories about his time as a SWAT sniper.”

“Your father sounds terrifying.”

“He just…we’re all we have, I guess.”

Hale was quiet for a moment. “Sounds like a good guy.”

“Dude, he’s the best guy. What about you? Mom, dad, both, neither?”

“Both.” Hale paused. “The first guy Laura ever brought home was met on the front porch by our mother skinning a deer.”

Stiles pulled the cell phone away from his ear just so he could stare incredulously at it. “And you think my dad is terrifying?”

“Well, my mom couldn’t hit something with a gun if it was standing two feet away, so...”

“How did she kill the deer?”

“My dad’s really good with snares.”

“…Are your parents ninjas? They sound like ninjas.”

“They like living off the land. All organic, home-grown stuff.”

“And wildlife, apparently. Jesus.”

“The wildlife tends to eat at least some of Mom’s crops, so she says they’re basically home-grown. I think she just likes having an excuse to eat venison. Also if we’re eating venison we aren’t eating any of our livestock, which saves us from a lot of hassle.”

“How come?”

“My niece and nephew get attached. They cried for three days after finding out they’d eaten Miss Bea.”

“Who was Miss Bea? Where did the name ‘Miss Bea’ even come from?” Stiles asked.

“Kind of like beef, I guess? She was a cow. I’m not sure why they called her ‘Miss’. They’re my brother’s kids, three and five.”

“So you have a brother and a sister?”

“A brother and three sisters.”

“Big family,” Stiles said.

“You have no idea.” Hale let out a loud huff, like he’d just sat down or flopped onto his bed. “And we all live close together—there’s no privacy. Ever.”

“So move out,” Stiles said.

“It hasn't helped.” Hale groaned. “While I was in college I lived in the dorms, and they came and visited all the time. And if I went home with someone, to avoid them walking in on me, they just called and called and called. I mean, I moved across the country and everything, but Laura followed—supposedly because of a business opportunity but that’s bullshit—and now she lives with me because apartments in New York are expensive and also she’s a lazy, nosy, annoying mooch. I haven’t made it past a first date since sophomore year.”

Stiles made an effort at not laughing. Failed miserably. “I would feel sorry for you but I’ve had all of, like, three dates period. Because I’m a huge loser who gets given wrong numbers.”

“Am I allowed to start getting insulted when you act like this was the worst thing to ever happen to you, or is it still too soon? We don’t have to—”

“No, no, this is, like, the best thing to ever happen to me. I just wish I’d been calling Dominos instead of it being yet another byproduct of my inability to score a date.”

“There have been other byproducts?”

“A girl gave me the number to donate to Red Cross, once. Another one actually agreed to a date and never showed and I ended up getting free dessert because the waiter felt so sorry for me. And this other time a guy sent me to a restaurant and had a cake delivered that said ‘not even if you were dying.’ I have more but I feel like I’m coming off as pathetic enough already.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t done anything, you know…”

“To give people the vibe I’ll date rape them or something? I don’t think so? I mean, if I try to start a conversation and they shut me down I walk away. I always feel like we’re having a good rapport, but I guess not.” He sighed. “Not that it matters. I’m giving up on the whole clubbing scene for a while.”

“Well.” Hale drew the word out a little and let it hang in the air.

“Yeah?”

“It’s almost time for the holidays, and…I’m moving home. Everyone’s been saying I should, and a job popped up, so. We could. If you want.”

In spite of the lead-up, it took Stiles a moment to catch on. “You…want to meet up?”

Hale made a disgruntled noise. “No, you’re right, it’s a bad—”

“Dude, no,” Stiles said quickly. “It’s. I’d like to. I’d totally like to. It’s just…what part of California is your family in? It’s not exactly a small state.”

“We’re flying into Sacramento and renting a car home.”

“Okay. I could swing Napa if…”

“Yes. Definitely yes, I. Napa’s doable,” Hale said. “Wine tasting?”

“If you want. I’m not huge on wine. But whatever, we can…call me when you get settled? We can figure out when and where then?”

“Yeah. Yes. Great. That sounds—great.”

Stiles heard the faint sound of someone opening a door, followed by a mumbled conversation. Hale sighed loudly into the receiver.

“Hold that thought,” he said. “I might be stuck here babysitting for the rest of my life.”

Stiles laughed. “They’ll find someone else to corral the toddlers.”

Hale muttered something that sounded like “I sure as hell hope so” before saying, voice resigned, “Text me later?”

“Obvs,” Stiles said, smirking when Hale groaned.

“I hate it when you use text slang.”

“I know,” Stiles said. “Bye. I mean. See you.”

Hale paused. There was a smile in his voice as he said, “See you.”

(DON’TBESUCHASOURPAGEBREAK)

[To: Nanny Hale] ‘ _was your flight terrible? did you die?_ ’

[From: Nanny Hale] ‘ _No. We sprang for first class so the worst I had to deal with was Laura._ ’

“Oh my God, Derek, put the phone down. Your man will wait a few minutes while we eat and converse over lunch like normal people.”

“There are absolutely zero normal things about us. You in particular.”

Stiles’ head snapped up from where he was composing a text for Hale. He looked around frantically, eyes finally coming to rest on the young couple that had just seated themselves in a booth across the way. They both looked a little frazzled (like they had just gotten off a plane, shit) but still could have stepped straight out of a magazine. Both had dark hair and light eyes; angular cheekbones and upturned noses.

The woman laughed. “Don’t be an asshole just because I won’t let you flirt with your little beau, Der-bear.”

“Shut up, Laura,” the man said, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. Even without the slight muffling of the phone, that voice was unmistakable.

He swallowed thickly. Propped the menu up and hid behind it. His hands shook a little as he clicked on Hale’s icon and pressed ‘send.’ He peeked over the menu at the couple.

A soft piano tune played as the man’s phone vibrated on the table. A soft voice sang about [a wrong number](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NBdlccjjrM).

“Derek, honey,” the woman said, rolling her eyes expressively.

The man made a face at her as he picked up the phone. Pressed it to his ear as a slow, devastatingly beautiful smile came over his face. “Stiles?”

The word echoed in his ear, spurring Stiles’ frozen limbs into action. He hit ‘end’ and put the phone down on the table, burying his burning red face in his hands behind the menu.

“That’s weird,” the man, Hale, _Derek_ , said. “Must have disconnected.”

“Oh, call him back. You’re going to be useless, now,” Laura said.

Stiles yelped loudly as his phone went off, stupid K-Pop music blaring in his ears. He grabbed and fumbled with and silenced it, but when he looked over the Hales (oh god, _the_ Hales, how could he not have fucking known, of course Hale and his sister were part of the huge family who lived near the Preserve) they were staring at him.

“Oh my God,” Laura said.

Stiles cleared his throat loudly and raised a hand with a weak, awkward smile. “Hail, Hale.”

“Oh my God,” Laura said again. Reached across the table and shoved Derek’s shoulder. “Say hi before he realizes you’re a creepy loser, you creepy loser.”

Derek hardly seemed to notice her. Eyes locked on Stiles, he held up a hand. “Hi.”

Laura let out an enraged sound and dropped her head to the table.

“I can see what you mean about her being annoying,” Stiles said.

“And she’ll make me pay, the mooch,” Derek said, smile widening to show his teeth. Big, cute teeth that looked like they belonged to a bunny, not a Calvin Klein model, but still gave Stiles the near-irresistible urge to run his tongue along them.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving before I get cavities,” Laura said under her breath. Rolled her eyes and stood, looping her purse over her shoulder. “See you at home, dingus.”

“See you,” Derek said with a thoughtless wave. He stood, too, but only long enough to slide into the booth across from Stiles. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Stiles said. Straightened and offered him a hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Derek Hale,” Derek said. Took Stiles’ hand and gave him a sheepish smile in return. “Should’ve known—you’re Sherriff Stilinski’s kid?”

“And you’re Talia’s son. One of them,” Stiles said. “We’re so stupid; how did we not figure this out?”

“I don’t know, but you’re the one who claims to have epic investigative skills passed down from father to son, so…should I be worried about the safety of Beacon Hills?”

“You shut your mouth about my father, I will end you,” Stiles said without any malice whatsoever in his voice, helplessly enamored with the teasing lilt in Derek’s. And the curl of his lips. And the faint crow’s feet by his eyes. And the red tinge at the tips of his ears. _And those ridiculous bunny teeth, what the actual fuck._

“You mean you’ll call your dad and make him slightly arrest me?”

“He only slightly arrests people I’m dating.”

“Oh.” Derek’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Shit, no, that’s not what I—we’ve only met, like, _now_. And I know you’ve gotten a pretty good taste of my particular brand of annoying over the phone, but I’m told you can’t truly appreciate it unless it’s face to face and I don’t want to, like, assume we’re something and then after a week you’re like, wow, worst decision I ever made, this kid’s even more pathetic than I thought he was and he even warned me with his lame dating history and the Hail, Hale pun and the rambling, which is a thing that’s happening right now—”

His mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth (which, ow) as Derek reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

“I don’t mind,” Derek said softly. “I like. I mean. Dating. We should.”

“It’s your way with words I find most endearing,” Stiles said, clutching Derek’s hand.

“Me, too.” Derek squeezed back. “But about you.”

“Oh, man.” Stiles scrubbed his free hand over his face. “You are just stupidly perfect.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek said. “I’m…grumpy and I’m not good at communicating verbally and Cora says when I frown I look like a serial killer—”

Stiles laughed. “I actually remember her saying that, once, when we were in high school. Something about not taking guys home because her older brother glared at him until he pissed himself?”

“That only happened once,” Derek said seriously, but cracked a small smile under scrutiny.

“So what you’re saying is that your whole family’s terrifying. Good to know,” Stiles said. Bit his lip to stop himself from shivering as Derek’s thumb brushed back and forth across his knuckles.

“I don’t actually look like a serial killer,” Derek said with a frown.

“Oh, man, no, you totally do, it’s the eyebrows,” Stiles said. “If it makes you feel any better I pretty much look like a Muppet.”

“It’s because you have such a big mouth.” Derek raised his eyebrows up as he took a sip of his drink.

“All the better to suck you with, my dear.”

Derek choked on his soda.

(DON’TBESUCHASOURPAGEBREAK)

[To: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _SO A MUPPETS CHRISTMAS CAROL IS A GO?_ ’

[From: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _Yes. Laura hasn’t stopped laughing._ ’

[To: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _SHES JUST JEALOUS BOO I CANT WAIT TIL YOU SEE WHAT I GOT YOU_ ’

[From: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _Is it a mix tape of all the songs you could find that mention wrong numbers?_ ’

[To: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _NOPE EVEN BETTER_ ’

[From: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _Dominos gift card?_ ’

[To: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _AHAHA GOOD ONE BUT NO BETTER STOP TRYING TO GUESS_ ’

[From: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _Fine. See you tonight._ ’

[To: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _I LESS THAN THREE YOU A LOT_ ’

[From: Cloudy with a Chance of Hale] ‘ _Love you, too._ ’

~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> He got him medieval times tickets.
> 
> In other news: there really is an IHOP in Gastonia, NC that is located on Cox Rd. I don't know if they actually have to say "IHOP on Cox" when they answer the phone but the thought brings me everlasting joy.
> 
> I'm assuming everyone gets the 1D thing, but 'good night roslin' is as in 'Laura Roslin' from Battlestar Galactica. Taco Tuesday is also an homage to my cuz, because we went and saw Lego Movie recently and it was AWESOME. And the 'me too but about you' thing is from 'Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs,' thus Derek's last moniker. ;)


End file.
